


Let's Grow Closer

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Modern Era, Protective Robb, Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry all but cuts and runs when Sansa tells him.</p><p>-</p><p>Written for a valar-morekinks prompt: "College-age Sansa ends up pregnant but the baby's dad is a waste-of-oxygen immature shitstain. Cue her older brother's best friend, Jon, who just starts stepping in and helping out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Grow Closer

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this prompt](http://valar-morekinks.livejournal.com/4024.html?thread=1764280#t1764280)!
> 
> Note: there is a very brief mention of abortion in the beginning.

Harry all but cuts and runs when Sansa tells him. “How?” he asks, near to tears, as if he didn’t beg and plead for months for them to forego condoms, as if he didn’t tell her he didn’t care when she told him pills weren’t one hundred percent effective-- a fact she knew since high school, and from personal experience: both Rickon and Bran came along years after her parents stopped trying for more children.

“You _know_ how,” she snaps back, scared out of her mind because she’s nineteen and in college and the father of the baby growing inside of her is a complete and utter idiot.

“We fucked without a condom, like, one time!” He grabs at his hair; gets up to pace. “Fuck… fuck, San, this is _terrible._ My dad will freak when he finds out.” He turns to face her. “What are you going to do?”

His words twist something inside of her. _What are you doing to do?_ The implication is heavy: Are you going to abort? Are you going to keep it? _You_ , he said. _You._ It rings in her ears. Getting pregnant wasn’t in her ten-year plan. Sitting on a toilet next to eleven pee-covered sticks two weeks after her period was _supposed_ to come wasn’t either. But she did it. She faced her fears because they needed to be faced, even though she could’ve lived all the rest of her days pretending everything was just fine, she was just stressed over school; finals; essays.

All she needs right now, she thinks, is someone to hold her. Someone to tell her everything will work out. That she didn’t just toss all her hard work away because of one stupid decision. That whatever she chooses will be the right thing to do. The fact that Harry doesn’t even come near her is telling; all the answer she needs.

Harry is selfish. Always has been, from the day they got together. His reaction hurts, sure, but it’s nothing she didn’t expect. Still, tears prick at her eyes, knowing that she’ll be alone in it no matter what she does. “I don’t know what I’m going to _do_ just yet,” she says, and gets up to leave. She refuses to cry in front of him. “But I’ll be sure to tell you when I do.”

She walks out.

He doesn’t stop her. He doesn’t even _try._

Only a few tears slip free on the drive to Robb’s apartment. Her pride at keeping it together breaks apart, however, as soon as she parks and the reality of her situation sets in. _I’m pregnant_. She takes a shuddering gasp and, like a dam crumbling, she begins to sob, loud and messy. It’s not a cute cry. It’s primal and painful and all she wants is to travel back in time and shake herself for being so stupid. She bangs her palm against the steering wheel, once, twice, which only makes her cry harder because now she’s pregnant _and_ her hand hurts.

She cries for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, and waits another ten in her car before heading up to the apartment. She doesn’t care that Robb will take one good look at her and fly off the handle. She defended Harry for six months. She’s _tired._ She rings the doorbell.

“I am going to _murder him_ ,” Robb says, a split-second after he opens the door. The rage that ripples across his face is unlike anything she’s ever seen. “I am going to _fucking_ kill him.”

She presses against his chest, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. “Please, Robb, _stop--”_

“What did he do? What the fuck _happened?”_

Jon appears at the door, Ghost and Grey Wind on his heels. “What’s going on?”

“Look at her!” Robb spits. He’s in full-blown protective brother mode, red-faced and furious. “Harry Hardyng is a dead man once I get my hands on him--”

“Robb!” she cuts him off, twisting her fist in his shirt to catch his attention. She can barely look him in the eyes. _Tell him. Tell him you’re pregnant_. The truth catches in her throat, shame and guilt washing over her suddenly, but she forces herself to say it, to rip it off like a band-aid: “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Then, Robb retreats inside, and Sansa follows. Jon hovers awkwardly by the door before shutting it behind them, and quickly ushers the clueless dogs into his room.

She wrings her hands together, unsure of how to proceed in the face of Robb’s pale-faced silence. “Please don’t be mad,” she says weakly.

“ _Mad?_ I’m not-- I’d never be mad at you, San. I’m just-- surprised. Really surprised,” Robb replies. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Are you… are you okay? I mean, are you feeling morning sick or anything?”

“I’m okay,” because she is now. Someone caring about her is all she needed. Robb pulls her into a tight hug, and she bursts into tears.

 

 

 

The first few weeks are the worst. She tells the rest of her family, none of whom are particularly excited about the news--especially her mother. It’s the first wedge that’s ever driven between them, and it grows all the wider when she decides to keep the baby.

“Sansa,” her mother says afterwards, clutching Sansa’s hands like a lifeline. “ _Please_. Think about your future.”

“This is my future,” she replies. She’s just started to feel sick--though it’s all the time, not just in the mornings--but she sat through the first ultrasound and heard the heartbeat and it was like something clicked into place. None of this is what she planned for herself at nineteen, but this is her life now. Being pregnant, having a child, is a part of it. She knows her parents’ biggest concern, other than her general health, is her future: finishing school. But she did her research, and she knows it’s not impossible to accomplish. All she needs to do is talk to the administration and defer a few months if she needs to. Her mother’s quiet disapproval when Sansa tells her as much hurts more than words can describe.

The absolute worst part is that she _is_ alone. Harry removed himself from the picture early on, offering only to provide financial support and nothing more. And her family, despite overcoming their initial shock, don’t seem to quite know what to do with her: the “good sister” gone bad. Her parents check on her frequently, but disappointment lingers in nearly every question they ask. Robb tries to be supportive, but his burning hatred of Harry is hard to hide. Bran and Rickon are young, realize she maybe shouldn’t be pregnant, and ask more questions than Sansa wants to answer. Arya, surprisingly, is the coolest one of them all, offering Sansa an uncharacteristic hug when they’re alone for the first time.

Then, a month into her _predicament_ , Jon Snow happens.

“I can give you Gilly’s number if you’d like,” he says one day. “Little Sam’s one now, but I can’t imagine she’s forgotten what being pregnant was like. Unless it was that terrible. Oh. _Shit._ What am I saying? I mean--I’m sure it was fine... Sorry.”

Sansa laughs until she’s nearly crying.

She calls Gilly afterwards, and they agree to meet for lunch the next day. They talk for hours, about being pregnant and how Gilly managed to juggle everything, and about meaningless things, too. After Sansa hugs Gilly and Little Sam goodbye, she realizes she feels much better. _Calmer._ She’s still frightened for the road ahead of her, but the looming shadow of failure is no longer there. Thanks to Gilly-- and thanks to Jon.

She thinks that’s the end of it. But, to her immense surprise, Jon’s thoughtfulness doesn’t stop with a phone number. It continues, until gifts and words of encouragement become the norm as she comes and goes from Robb and Jon’s shared apartment.

He pushes a bag of baby books into her hands and refuses the money she offers him in return. “I was there anyway,” he insists. She doesn’t mention the copy of _The Expectant Father_ on the coffee table.

Another day, it’s ginger sweets. “I heard it helps with morning sickness. Gilly told me these were pretty good.”

A week later: “Have you signed up for those baby birthing classes yet? I just found a coupon at work for a good one...”

Sansa knows she needs to put an end to it--he’s wasted money on her; he’s inflicted her upon his _best friends!_ \--but every time she vows to tell Jon not to bother anymore, she finds she can’t follow through with it. She never thought much about him before, but… now, she can’t stop thinking about him. She _likes_ him. She likes the attention he gives her. She likes the small smiles they share for no other reason than she’s _happy,_ and he’s happy, too. Maybe it’s the hormones scrambling her brain, or some primitive part of her that says she needs a partner, but she doesn’t want to let him go. Especially when he seems perfectly content where he is.

Months pass, and Sansa gets the hang of it. Her first trimester wasn’t terrible, save for a month or so of queasiness and the complete inability to stomach the smell of lemons, but the boost of energy she receives in her second makes her feel like Wonder Woman. She glows. Her hair, already thick to begin with, gets thicker and shinier, and it feels like she goes to sleep one morning flat-stomached to wake the next with a tiny bump. It's incredible and weird, and for the first time since this all began, she thinks _I can do this. I can really fucking do this._

“Look,” she tells Jon-- the first person she calls. She lifts her shirt up and turns sideways. The lighting in her room isn’t the best, but the gentle rise of her is noticeable.

Jon stays so still on the screen she’s afraid the Skype call dropped. Then, “Wow, Sansa. That’s amazing. You look beautiful. I wish… I wish I was there right now.”

Her stomach flutters. _The baby, or his words?_ She bites her lip, thinking. She’s been wanting to ask him something for the longest time, but always stopped herself short, worried about his reaction or if it would be taking their strange, new friendship too far. But she feels fearless this morning, and asks, “Do you want to come to the next appointment with me?”

Jon does. He goes to all of her appointments, and holds her hand throughout, and tells her things like, “This baby will be the luckiest one who ever lived, with a mother like you,” and, “You can do it, Sansa. You’re brave and beautiful and _smart_ ,” when she’s terrified out of her mind that she made the wrong choice. They text all day long now, and he rubs her feet without prompting, and it’s only a matter of time before she grabs him by the ears and kisses him breathless because she’s never been in love before, but she _loves_ Jon Snow.

“Jon,” she moans, _finally_ making her move, and he kisses her back so sweetly and tenderly she can’t help but melt into his arms. “I… I…” She can say the words, but he seems to understand, whispering, “I know, me too,” against her temple.

She doesn't mean for more to happen. She doesn't mean for them to take it any further, but Jon slips his hand into her panties and works her to one of the best orgasms she's ever had, drinking down her moans and sighs with his mouth. He eats her out afterwards, even though she insists she's fine, and then fucks her from behind after she's come twice from that. It’s so _good_ , and it feels so right. He cries out as he comes, and he kisses a line up her spine after they break apart. It's overwhelming tender, and pure and perfect, and Sansa’s so glad she has him in her life.

They bask in the afterglow for a while, and Jon breaks the silence with a tentative, “This doesn’t have to change anything, you know. If-- if you don’t want it to.” His voice is uncertain.

Sansa turns around to face him, struggling a little because she’s still not used to the extra weight at her front. Then she grabs his face in her hands, and kisses him. She pulls back. _I love you._ “I want it to change everything, Jon.”

He nods, and that’s that, though not much changes between them from what they were doing before, except that she rides him in his bed and begs him to finger her after a long day of feeling too tight and hot in her own skin.

What does change, though, is everything else. The apartment she was going to handle on her own becomes dreams of _their_ apartment, and she stops clarifying Jon’s status when people ask about _their_ baby. With the help of her father, she drafts legal paperwork for Harry to sign-- to terminate all his parental rights, even if it comes at the cost of never receiving a single red cent from him.

 

 

It’s hard to keep _them_ a secret, and so they don’t.

“My _sister?_ ” Robb roars, when they tell him. “My sister?!”

“Sansa, you can’t be _serious,_ ” her mother says. “Jon Snow!”

“Cat,” her father steps in, “Jon’s a good man.”

“He _is_.” Sansa is furious. He’s the best damn person she knows. Telling her family over their weekly dinner was the worst ideas she’s had, she thinks, and she’s had plenty of those as of late. “He’s been better to me than anyone.”

“Well, he’s certainly not the worst boyfriend you’ve had,” is Arya’s opinion.

“Yeah, Jon’s cool,” Bran chimes in, and Rickon yells excitedly.

The rest of the meal passes in awkward silence, Jon excuses himself outside after the plates are put away, and Sansa teeters after him with a furious glare to her family.

“I don’t want you fighting with your family over me,” Jon says, miserably, on the drive home. To _their_ apartment.

“ _You’re_ family, Jon.” She squeezes his hand, their fingers laced together over the center console. “You’re my family, too.”

But they’re Starks, and they stick together no matter the strife, and eventually everyone who needs to apologize for their reactions does so in their own little ways, and Sansa forgives them. Jon forgives them, too. She even finds him and Robb brainstorming over baby names one evening, tossing popcorn to one another and Ghost and Grey Wind like they used to do when they were still in high school. She smiles when she sees it. _Everything will be okay._

Months pass, and Sansa grows bigger, and miserable. Sleeping through the night is impossible with the baby sitting on her bladder, and her back aches all the time now. But the end is near, as Gilly likes to remind her, and after she aces her finals like she said she would, she goes into labor. It comes on quick, and all the advice she received and all the books she read didn’t prepare her for the pain of contractions. “Ah!” She yells, hunched over. It knocked the air right from her lungs and she crunches down on Jon’s hand with a silent snarl, breathing through the pain, until it’s time to go.

The entire Stark family arrives to the hospital like a pack of wild wolves, and Sansa screams for her mother when she hears her voice-- and whatever disappointment and hurt Catelyn Stark harbored for her eldest daughter melts away when she sees Sansa holding her baby with exhausted, happy tears in her eyes.

“Oh,” Sansa says through her sobs, “I love him so much already.”

Jon’s crying, too, and buries his nose into Sansa’s tangled hair. “He’s amazing,” he whispers, “you were wonderful.”

No, Sansa didn’t plan for a baby, and she certainly didn’t plan for it at nineteen. She didn’t plan on not being with the father, either, or falling in love with her brother’s best friend in the process. But nothing is ever as good as planned, and this? This is a far better story. She tilts her face up for a kiss, filled to the brim with love.


End file.
